Ha. Awesome commercial. Well played, Audi. Well played.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=WPkByAkAdZs

Random Neuron Firings

I’ve stopped counting these posts, heh. From now on, instead of Roman Numerals, I’ll list them as such:

• RNF again
• RNF socks
• RNF chair
• RNF liver-n-onions
• RNF etc.

K? K.

For those not on Facebook, I posted a link to an article yesterday, where Harry Connick, Jr.’s appearance on American Idol was discussed. Finally — a good deed shines in a weary world. Somebody who actually knows the “Great American Songbook” gave guidance to young singers who consistently trample it with ridiculous Aguilera-esque vocal gymnastics and completely uninformed style. Somebody who actually sings the Songbook on a regular basis came to Idol to mentor these get-rich-quick schemers, and maybe teach them a little something about being a consummate, discerning performer. Cool, eh?

Well, too bad no one listened to him. Sheesh.

American Idol — and its ilk — has reduced down to this:  almost without exception, he/she who has the fastest vocal runs, the loudest belt/highest tenor, and the sharpest R&B licks wins. Period. Close the book. Finis.

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Speaking of Facebook: Has anyone noticed the latest craze of posting recipes? On my newsfeed, most of them are absolute sugar fests. Pies made with  cups of butter, peanut butter, chocolate chips, sugar, cream cheese and Cool Whip, weighed down with 50 Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups…oy. Cakes stuffed with puddings and candy bars? “This is a great treat for the kids!” Hmmm. Now don’t get me wrong; I’d probably love them all. But it’s getting out of hand, really, as if there’s a contest to see who can post the most outrageously sickeningly sweet, over-the-top, cloying junk food recipe in existence. It just confirms the American love affair — and addiction to — processed sugar. But that’s a rant for another day.

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Hey, guess what. Fourteen more days of school. Fourteen. I can do this.

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Hey, guess what. Thirty-six days till we take off for the Odyssey, and till I get to BoomR’s place to make some music.

Yikes, it’s 6:05. Late for the gate. Have a great Monkday, if that is possible. Ciao!

If only they’d last, ja?

Last night was another evening of fun at the farm. Two new goats were born on Wednesday, and the Thriller and I took the Js to see them. Of course, Farmers Bob and Kay were great hosts and let the boys not only feed, but actually choose the names for the new babies. How cool is that, really.

Dinnertime for Gizmo

Jake thought of the name “Mina” for the girl, and they chose “Gizmo” for the boy (with Grandpa Thriller’s input). We had a laugh because all of the Thistlefink animals have Slovenian names. “Mina” was good (how did a 5-year-old come up with that all by himself?), but “Gizmo?” Kay had to think about that one for a minute, haha. But it seemed to fit the little guy, so I think it stuck. Fun times.

They ran with goats and chickens, checked the hen house for eggs with Bob, ate homemade raspberry sorbet, chugged ice-cold goat’s milk like it was their job, came home and played cars & trucks, took a bath, stayed up too late, then crashed. It was a fantastic evening.

Today is filled with traveling and chores and errands, not the least of which is buying groceries, as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard is close to bare nekkid, save the greens and eggs we picked up at the farm last night. Tomorrow is the band concert, then back to work.

Have I mentioned I have 14 days of school left? I don’t think so. Countin’ ’em up, fiends.

Happy Saturnday!

Finkday at last.

The Js tonight, Mr. A. sometime this weekend, lovely band concert on Sunday…going to be a relaxing weekend, I hope. Well, until the ubiquitous rhythm section part-writing sessions — but let’s not think about that now.

Rushing about this morning makes for late getting out the door. Dare I say I care not ?

Have a great day, y’all — do something fun tonight!

PS — Has anyone tried Path?

I wants to go to all the heres.

Some of these I already knew, but others, cool.

“Dogs don’t say ‘I love you’ with a hug.” They don’t? 

Coolest Central Park picture ever.

Yes, this morning I am a “bored panda.” A bored panda who hates Mondays. And now, a non sequitur…

We pretty much all have a span in our professional lives when we say, “This has been the most stressful, unhappy year ever.” It’s a close call for me this year, and of course it’s not the kids. I love them. It’s a bunch of other forces at work. Et maintenant, we drink a bitter wine. Seeing my grandsons this week should help. Gotta get on that.

I’m rambling. Stalling, actually. Time to giddyup.